Red Paint
by SavvyJackie
Summary: Harley knows it's strange to be seen hanging out with Jack, the new kid at school with the ugly scars, but it all stops to matter when he helps Harley clean up after a huge mistake. JokerxHarley.
1. Chapter 1

_"When the enemy has no face, society will invent one."_

_Susan Faludi_

Chapter 1

The day Jack Napier set foot in school, Harley knew things would never be quite the same.

She sensed him coming before she saw him. The roar of chatter wavered off as students parted in the middle of the hallway for a messy nest of dirty blond hair to make through. That's all she could see of him at first. As he came closer to her place by the lockers, a small gap formed in the crowd within her line of vision, and she managed to catch a flash of dark, angry eyes that left her with an uneasy feeling of needing to cave into herself or hide. Then, he was gone, having whizzed past as more and more people turned their heads in his direction.

He hadn't been drawing attention to himself. The only thing noticeable about him was that he was new to the school; she was good with faces, and the second floor hallway on the east side of Gotham High School was mainly reserved for classes where honors courses and AP courses were taught, classes she often frequented. She would've recognized him. That, and people wouldn't have been ogling at him if he had already been a student here.

"God, who was _he?_" her friend Sasha asked as she stared after where the new mysterious boy had disappeared.

Harley had known Sasha since she was twelve, and they were still best friends their sophomore year of high school. She watched as Sasha rapidly chewed on her bubble gum and stretched it with her teeth, deeply contrasted by her dark lipstick in the same way her pale skin contrasted her jet-black bob. Her wide-eyed gaze shifted between Harley and the hallway.

Harley shrugged as she retrieved the books for her first lesson out of her locker. "He must be a new kid." Though it was strange for anybody to be transferring schools when they were halfway through the school year.

"Yeah, but I've never seen _that _reaction before. Did you get a glimpse of him? Was he cute or something?"

"I couldn't see through the crowd. But if his class is in this hallway, we might see him again later." She grinned mischievously. "I _hope _he's cute."

Sasha folded her hands and leaned against her locker. "A cute face would be refreshing in this dump."

"He's Harris Napier's son. Don't you ladies watch the news?" Jaime Harrington came to stand in between Harley and Sasha, adorned with a crooked grin and towering above the both of them. His gaze was immediately fixated on Harley, and she began to fiddle with the straps of her backpack, avoiding his eyes.

Harley knew that Jaime had had a thing for her since freshman year, and she detested it. While she didn't mind attention from boys and was capable of handling flirtatious advances, Jaime was too darn-right stubborn and arrogant for her liking. He had the habit of lingering by her locker and calculating her with mean, green eyes, expecting her to squirm or drape her arms over his chest or play with his hair like so many other girls did. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction, and it should have been clear after she had already rejected him about going on a date _twice. _

She looked up from the floor and met Sasha's gaze briefly before forcing herself to glance up at Jaime and give him a small smile.

"Who's Harris Napier?" Despite wishing she could just slam her locker shut and rush to Mrs. Perkins' English class, Harley had a genuine curiosity. Could the new kid have been the son of a celebrity?

Jaime shifted from foot to foot, licked his lips, and leaned closer to Harley, as if he were about to disclose a secret. "Harris Napier was a senator, but he's running to be Gotham's mayor now."

_A politician,_ Harley thought. _Yuck._ She imagined it was difficult to have a politician for a parent. They were all cunning, self-interested liars, as her Dad always told her. A few lessons in history made her come to the conclusion that he was probably right, though she knew there must have been exceptions.

"How did you know that was his son?" Harley asked.

Jaime shrugged. "Word spreads fast. He transferred from Gotham Academy."

Sasha frowned. "The posh, rich-kids school?"

"Yeah." Jaime raised his eyebrows and leaned even closer to Harley. She caught a whiff of his cologne. It smelled overly-sweet and like something older men wore. It flooded her nostrils and made her want to retract. "They say he got kicked out for starting a fire."

"Really," Harley said. It was more of a passive comment than a question. She turned to her locker and shut it closed. "Well, we better get to class, Sasha."

Sasha was aware of Harley's dislike of Jaime and perked up, gripped her books and following after Harley. "Yeah, we should hurry. There's only five minutes left and Perkins hates it when we're late."

The truth was, Mrs. Perkins' class was right around the corner, and she only got angry for a few minutes if someone was late to class before forgetting about it completely, but they weren't about to tell Jaime that.

Harley gave Jaime a polite nod. "Bye Jaime."

"Later, Harls." Jaime winked and went off in the opposite direction.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Harley groaned and rolled her eyes. "Ugh. Thank God."

"You should stop being so polite to him," Sasha said.

"I wish I could."

"Oh, c'mon, Harley. Clearly rejecting him _politely _didn't do the trick the first time. _Or _the second time," Sasha said incredulously.

Harley took a deep breath and tried to level out the discomfort that must've been apparent on her face. "I know, Sasha. You know I hate him. But I don't want to start a conflict."

Aaron, Celine, and Patrick- they were friends with Jaime, too, but they made up a social circle Harley wanted to stay a part of, and the only way that could happen is if she just swept her hatred for Jaime under the rug instead of making things awkward. Sasha was the only one that disdained Jaime just as much as Harley did, but that was because she was the only one who saw him for the douchebag he was.

Harley and Sasha had spent too many days fooling around and pulling pranks with the other three friends, which made the high school experience much less daunting from the beginning. Going to city rooftops and having picnics, picking dream prom-dresses to try on for each other in Gotham Central Mall with the girls, smearing left-over marshmallow-and-chocolate goo on each other's faces during a camping trip in the Palisades- thinking of them always brought back those warm memories, and Harley refused to trade all that for one jerk who was a part of the same social circle. She created something for herself here, and she was _not_ about to give it up.

As she pushed open the door to Mrs. Perkins' class to start the day with American Literature, she switched the topic to the homework and whether Sasha had understood what a "motif" was.

The moment she set her eyes on him, she had stopped listening to what Sasha was saying.

Shoulders hunched, head hung low and sitting isolated at the furthest corner of the classroom, the shock of dirty blond hair was the first thing to stand out to Harley just like it had in the hall. She noted that he was tall and lean, his legs stretching out far beneath his desk. He was clad in a black, crisp, long-sleeved shirt and khaki pants, but the look didn't seem to fit him, Harley noted. The sizes were right, but something about his rigid posture told Harley he wasn't comfortable wearing it. She couldn't blame him. It was so formal and dull for a school with a very lax uniform policy.

Upon closer inspection of his face, Harley's stomach twisted into knots.

Stretching along the right side of his face from the mouth up to the cheekbone was a rough and jagged scar. It was macabre, like someone had gotten a knife and split open his mouth along the seams. _That's _why everyone had been staring at him. It wasn't because he was famous or because he was cute or because he was the new kid. It was because of the terrifying laceration.

Harley shared a look with Sasha, who had also grown silent upon seeing the Napier boy. As they slowly made their way to their seats in front of the class where Aaron and Celine were already sitting, Harley continued to cast surreptitious glances his way like everyone else.

If he was aware of the attention, he didn't show it. He stared with intent focus outside the window and restlessly tapped his fingers on his desk, the corner of his mouth pulled into a small scowl. Even though he didn't appear to be self-conscious, it was evident that he wasn't in a good mood.

When she greeted Aaron- jock-type, boyish grin, spiky-haired Aaron- and took a seat to the right of him, he raised his eyebrows and cast exaggerated glances in the direction of the Napier boy.

"Yeah, I know. He's new here, right? Do you know what happened to him?" Harley whispered.

Aaron shrugged and rubbed his head. "No idea. Heard he attended Gotham Academy and got kicked out for drug dealing."

Harley raised an eyebrow. "I thought he got kicked out for starting a fire."

"You kidding? Take a look at him. He looks like a junkie." Not being able to resist the temptation, Harley did glance the Napier boy's way again, and she had most certainly not been expecting for him to be staring right back. His eyes were thunderous and pierced right through her, just like they had in the hallway, causing her to abashedly turn away as her cheeks began to grow warm. _Great, _she thought._ Now he definitely knows we're talking about him._ _Could he hear what we're saying?"_

"Bet he got the scar when a deal went wrong," Aaron continued with a knowing tone.

"I don't know," Harley muttered, turning her body towards the front of class so as to avoid the Napier boy's gaze. "He's the son of a politician. I don't think he'd be able to get away with that stuff. But he is a bit creepy."

Just then, Mrs. Perkins arrived into class. She was an older woman with short, grey hair and glasses with rectangular frames. Harley was glad to have her class to start off the day. She was a no-nonsense type of woman, but she was still kind and fair and had an amusing anecdote to tell every now and then.

She started off the day with taking attendance and did a double take when she spotted him.

"Oh, are you Mr. Jack Napier?"

_Jack. _

Every single head whipped around to face him. Harley turned around too, secretly glad to have an excuse to inspect his scar again.

He slowly turned his head from looking outside the window, countenance utterly neutral. He chewed on what Harley guessed to be a piece of gum and then, in a voice that was too deep for his age, said, "That's me."

"Welcome to Gotham High, Jack." Mrs. Perkins smiled at him warmly. "I hope you'll be enjoying your stay here. If you ever need help with anything, I'm always here. And I'm sure your new peers can help you navigate around the school."

"Aren't cha gonna ask him why he _came_ here?" Andy Smith, the class clown, mumbled from the back, loud enough for only the students to hear. Some sniggered at the boldness of the question and looked expectantly at Jack, who gave a downward glass in their direction but simply continued to chew on his gum.

Even though there was something creepy about him, Harley still felt a twinge of pity for the way everyone was treating him. She was glad that Mrs. Perkins hadn't heard Andy, or perhaps had chosen to ignore him. She probably knew about whatever situation brought Jack here, since she recognized him.

Once the bell had rung and it was time to switch classes, Harley turned to look for him again but only saw his back with one foot already out the door before he disappeared. She didn't see him again till lunch.

She and Sasha had been the first to arrive at their usual lunch table inside the cafeteria. Since they were only serving hamburgers and an orange-y, gooey pile of pasta and meat that was supposed to pass for lasagna, Harley decided that she would skip lunch and bite into an apple Sasha didn't want. The hamburgers didn't look half bad, but she was trying to watch her figure.

"God, Harley, do you ever eat?"

"If they served anything that was healthy or _looked _healthy, I might. My coach is being strict, telling me I have to lay off the fast food. I haven't eaten chocolate for a_ week_. And you know how my mom is. She cleansed the kitchen and wants Dad to go on a diet, too."

"This gymnastics thing is really pushing you. Guess you're not going to be able to go out this Saturday either, huh?"

"You know I can't. This is States_. _There's only a month left and I feel like I don't know my routine any more now than when I started." Harley groaned.

Harley had been taking gymnastics classes since she was four years old. It meant sacrificing time with friends and learning how to manage her time. The amount of discipline required was a feat to achieve, but Harley had always been proud of her ability to persevere. Her passion for it always drove her to push herself to do better.

Aaron, Celine and Patrick all emerged from the lunch line with filled lunch trays and took their seats at the table with Harley and Sasha.

Celine was someone Harley could see as becoming a news anchor or saleswoman. She had warm brown eyes, a stunning smile and a photogenic face that could do the sweet-talking for her, though she was good at drawing people in with friendly comments too. She looked at Harley's sad apple core and said, "Here, you can have mine too," tossing her apple to Harley.

"Thanks," Harley responded. Aaron and Patrick followed suit and disposed of their apples too.

The first thing noticeable thing about Patrick were his cerulean eyes, always filled with laughter. He was relatively short compared to most boys, and he was sometimes made fun of for that, but Harley thought he was cute. And she liked his kindness. He had been her first friend here excluding Sasha, and he had invited her along to hang out with the rest of her current group of friends, which made her feel welcome her first day in Gotham High.

"Doing all right?" Patrick asked as he dug his fork into his lasagna.

"Yeah," Harley replied. "Just tired. Practice didn't end until nine yesterday, and then I stayed up another two hours trying to finish the math homework. All for nothing. I _still _don't understand it."

"Really? Well, I did it. I could explain it to you, if you'd like."

Harley's face broke into a smile, as if she were a small girl being offered all the Barbies in the world. "Could you?"

"Anything for you, Harls."

"God, thanks a bunch. How's badminton practice going?"

Just as Patrick reached for his backpack to take out the homework, Jaime appeared out of nowhere and slid into the seat next to Harley. He usually sat at this lunch table, but Harley knew that if he chose to sit next to her, he would most definitely do everything in his power to bother her. Already he sat far too close for her liking. Their elbows were touching, though she was well-aware that there was plenty of room to the other side of him.

"Hey guys," Jaime greeted them. He looked pointedly at Harley before turning to look at everyone else. "Sup?"

"Aren't you going to get lunch?" Sasha asked with unmasked annoyance.

Jaime didn't even hear her question as Aaron called to him and asked him something about swimming practice.

As the two boys spoke over her, Harley leaned forward so she could hear Patrick explain what was on the homework he had just smoothed out on the table.

Though she attempted to listen and even took out a paper and a pencil to take notes on Patrick's instructions, his voice and her focus was being drowned out by Aaron and Jaime's raucous laughter, and she could hear Jaime obnoxiously chewing gum with an open mouth.

As soon as she had asked enough questions to understand what she had to do, she stood, grabbed her stuff, and said, "I'm going to go and try to finish this somewhere else."

Sasha nodded her head in understanding and replied, "See you later, Harley."

Just as she was about to walk away, Jaime grabbed her wrist and said, "Hey, where you going, Harley girl? I have to talk to you about something."

Harley slowly pulled her hand away. He always tried to find ways to touch her. "I really have to finish this, Jaime. We can talk sometime later."

Jaime pursed his lips and shrugged, as though slightly disappointed. "All right. Guess I'll see you later."

Harley wished she hadn't been so cold in her remark. "Sorry, Jaime. It's just…this is important. My grade had already dropped to a B last semester and I can't let it happen again. Maybe you can call me later." She knew that wouldn't be a possibility because of gymnastics practice, but maybe the comment would reassure him she didn't dislike him.

Jaime cracked a grin. "Hey, it's all good. Though a smart girl like you shouldn't worry so much."

Harley tried to hide her irritation at the comment; her grades meant something to her and she has worked hard for years to maintain a good academic record. If she planned to keep doing gymnastics, she had to prove she could still handle school to her mother and to the universities she might apply to in the future. Of course she had to worry. Instead of saying all that, though, she put on a false smile instead. "See you later, then."

When she pushed through the cafeteria doors, she rushed upstairs to the library. There was only twenty five minutes left and she still had five questions to answer.

Upon taking one step inside the library, something knocked into her and forced the air out of her lungs. She took a step back to steady herself from the impact of the crash and reached out her hands to steady herself. One hand found purchase on somebody's chest while the other braced against the wall behind her.

When she looked up, she gasped.

It was Jack.

His eyes were moving rapidly, analyzing her face. His nostrils flared slightly. He towered above Harley so overwhelmingly it sent a jolt through her heart and made her quickly remove her hand from his chest, as if he were a hot stove that just singed her hand.

"S-sorry," she stammered, stepping to the left to move out of his way. "I'm really sorry. I didn't see you coming."

His gaze followed her, but the intensity of the moment died now that she wasn't so close to him. He thoughtfully chewed on his cheek, the same cheek that bared his scar. Maybe it wasn't a piece of a chewing gum after all, but a habit he had. She thought she heard him hum low in his throat, as if acknowledging her apology. Then, he cleared his throat, turned away, and walked out of the library.

Harley let out a deep breath, not sure why she had gotten so nervous. Perhaps it was because the accusations that had been made against him for getting kicked out of Gotham Academy made her wary of him, as did the scar. The injury could've come from a freak accident, but for some reason, she didn't think so. She couldn't imagine an accident that could've created a scar like that. Somebody probably gave it to him. Maybe what Aaron had said about a drug deal gone wrong was true. Gotham was filled with addicts doing anything and everything to get their next hit, so it made for a profitable business.

_But why would a politician's son even need that kind of money? _Harley mentally questioned.

But he certainly looked like the type, all serious and, come to think of it, a bit rude. She had guiltily apologized, yet _he_ was the one that crashed into _her _and didn't say a word; she had been walking into the library at a much more reasonable pace than he had been walking out of it.

She waved the musings away, knowing she needed to get started on the homework. Then, from the corner of her eye, she spotted a folded piece of paper on the floor.

She crouched down to pick it up. When she unfolded it, her eyes widened.

It was a drawing. With quick but deft strokes, someone had sketched a man covering half of his face with a masquerade mask. On the naked side, the man's eyebrow was sharply angled, his eye sinister. The lips were completely exposed, their corners upturned into a smirk. The mask, in contrast, wore a soft expression and was decorated with elegant vine patterns. Harley imagined them having a gold color, even though the sketch was black and white.

It occurred to her suddenly that perhaps Jack had dropped it in his rush out the door.

Without thinking twice, she rushed back outside, and as soon as she spotted his familiar hunched figure going down the hallway, she shouted, "Hey! Wait!"

The figure stopped, and, slowly, Jack turned around to face her.

Harley approached him, the hand holding the paper outstretched. She came to a stop a few feet away from him. "Is this yours?"

His hands were stuffed in his pockets, and he hesitantly took one out to grab the drawing, then proceeding to hold it closer to get a better look.

While he wasn't looking at her, Haley took the opportunity to look at his scar again. She now noticed there was another, much smaller scar beneath his lower lip, just as jagged and rough. She wished she didn't have to wonder how he got them. She was sure many people had asked him already, so maybe to make his life easier, he should've just issued a statement over the PA about what had happened to him and quench everyone's curiosity and suspicions once and for all. Well, he at least owed her after nearly knocking her over like that.

She realized how unreasonable she was being when she imagined her own face being hideously marred like his was. It would mean merciless judgement and stares for the entirety of her life, no doubt. He probably wasn't very lucky when it came to flirting with girls.

"Well, would you look at that," he finally said, rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck. "Thanks, doll."

Harley found it slightly strange for him to call her "doll". Perhaps he was mocking her. There was a twang to his curiously deep voice that made it seem more so.

"Yeah," she said. "No problem."

As he opened his backpack and shoved the paper inside, Harley softly commented, "It's good. Your drawing."

He swung his backpack over his shoulder and considered her, as if debating whether she was lying or not. Sensing his doubt, Harley added, "The shadows are nice. And the mask is so detailed."

He worked his mouth and cautiously drew out, "Thanks."

Harley nodded. "Well, I'll be going back. See you later, uh…Jack, right?"

He nodded, eyes studying her face, still calculating, still observing. She couldn't blame him. Maybe he thought she was mocking _him. _

"I'm Harley, by the way. Well, Harleen Quinzel, technically. But everyone calls me Harley."

He continued to chew on his cheek, as if processing the name like a new flavor of gum. "You mean, like, uh, harlequin?"

Harley would've playfully rolled her eyes if they were better acquainted. "Yeah, like harlequin. I've heard that one all too often before." Starting to realize how much she was babbling, Harley rushed to end the conversation. "Well, see you later, Jack. I have to get going."

And before she could distract herself any further, she waved and sped off to the library, forcing herself not to look back. As she was opening the door, she did so just once, but by then, Jack Napier was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Notes: The perspectives will most likely shift back and forth between Harley's and Jack's. I hope their characterizations are fitting and believable and that their interaction does (and will) make sense. The story will start to pick up in later chapters once Harley's "mistake" comes along. I hope the exposition will be interesting enough until then. Please tell me what you guys think! Comments are always welcome._

* * *

Chapter 2

Jack had to blink twice when she waltzed into art class, his last class of the day, two messy blonde buns bobbing happily as she sat in her seat at a drawing table in the front and began to chat with her neighbor.

_You gotta be kidding me,_ he thought.

Of all the people to have art class with, it had to be the same preppy bimbo who had been gossiping about him to her friends. It also had to be the one he had violently bumped into and internally debated as to whether apologize to or not, bitterly going with the latter option, only for another awkward encounter to occur a few minutes later.

He tried not to draw attention to himself, keeping to the back or the edge of classrooms for the entirety of the day and hoping his teachers decided not to assign him a seat, though there were not many other seats to choose from anyway.

He was wrong in assuming her sitting on the opposite side of the classroom would prove to be an advantage.

Mrs. Fairchild, the art teacher, had decided to assign a project. Two people would be randomly paired up to work on a mixed media collage.

The assignment itself didn't bother him. He wouldn't have minded working with someone. But if his day hadn't been so great already, it became downright _dandy _when Mrs. Fairchild had to assign _her _to be his partner. In the end, it was still Ms. Quinzel's fault; by not being able to keep her lip-gloss stained mouth shut, she indirectly declared herself to be friendliest person in the room to Mrs. Fairchild.

"Harley, you can work with our new student, Jack." Jack could see that this caught Harley's attention. She stopped talking to the girl sitting next to her and turned to look at Mrs. Fairchild. "You've got a welcoming personality, so I'm sure you'll make him feel comfortable on his first day."

Jack snorted in disbelief. He didn't know whether to laugh or be offended by Mrs. Fairchild's passive aggressive punishment. 'Here, work with this fucked-up-looking new kid for being disruptive.'

He watched the shock slowly seep into Harley's countenance as everyone else began moving around to sit with their partners. She turned her head, and her eyes quickly found him. She faltered slightly, then turned away and began to gather her stuff.

For a moment, he was sure she was going to storm out of the classroom. Instead, she headed right for his table. She set her stuff down and sat in the empty seat to the right of him.

"Nice to see you again, Jack," she greeted, not meeting his eyes at first. He could practically see her train of thought steaming and tumbling ahead, unsure of where to go. Then, she quickly recovered and put on a small smile he figured was supposed to pass for friendly. "So where do you want to start? Have any ideas?"

Jack narrowed his eyes slightly and frowned. Then, he sighed and folded his hands on the table. "Look, uh, you don't have to pretend."

"What do you mean?" she asked. Ever so innocent. Jack suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

"Look, if we're going to be working on this project together, I want to get all pretense out of the way. You don't need to pretend to be nice to me. No hard feelings. Promise."

At this, her smile fell. "I don't-" she stuttered. Her cheeks turned pink. "I'm not-" She took a deep breath and shook her head. "What makes you think I'm pretending to be nice to you?"

"I think you know the answer to that," he stated.

She seemed at a loss for words, and her cheeks got even pinker. _Good,_ Jack thought.

After a long and awkward pause, she mumbled, "I'm sorry." She looked up at him, and Jack was taken aback by how big and bright her eyes were. He'd never seen anything so damn blue in his entire life. For a second, they had made him forget she was putting on a "nice girl" persona like the rest of the cheerleader/pep-squad popular-wannabes.

He could tell she was one of them. From the trendy high-waisted shorts and midriff top to the lip gloss and bubblegum-pink nail polish, she fit the type. It was so sickeningly artificial he was sure he'd be puking glitter if he spent one more minute near her.

She took a deep breath, shook her head, and repeated, "I'm really sorry. That was wrong of me. I promise I'm not like that. And I really _was_ being nice. I meant what I said about your art." He didn't know how it was possible, but it was like her eyes had gotten even bigger, in a very child-like, innocent way. He had to question whether she was doing it on purpose.

Then, she stuck out her hand to him and bit her lip. "Would it be alright if we had a fresh start?"

Jack skeptically observed her hand. After thoughtfully chewing his lip, he drawled, "_Sure._" Slowly, he reached out his hand to shake her much smaller one. It didn't change anything, but she seemed so stupidly desperate he wasn't sure what else to do.

She let out a long breath as if she had been holding it in until he shook her hand. "Thank you."

Another awkward silence came between them, but soon enough, she switched the topic to something less awkward. "So you're an artist, huh?"

He was sure she still thought he was some sort of creep or something, or a druggie, or whatever else everyone was accusing him of being, but she clearly felt guilty and uncomfortable about all of it. He wasn't big on small talk, but he decided to give her a break, or a "second chance", as she called it. Maybe she would stop staring at him like a lost puppy.

He shrugged. "From time to time. Are you?"

"Actually…" Harley began to fiddle with the zipper on her backpack. "I'm just taking this class because it's easy to pass. It's not that I don't like art. I'm just pretty bad at it."

Jack quirked an eyebrow. "So…you're not even going to wait till later to indirectly tell me the entire project is up to me, by, uh, telling me you're bad at art."

Harley looked up, startled. "What? No!"

He cracked a grin at her reaction and would be lying if he said he didn't get a twinge of pleasure out of it.

Once she realized he was joking, she let out an uncertain, slightly embarrassed laugh. "Oh."

Jack noted that she didn't seem as apprehensive or repulsed as he had expected her to be. Mostly she just seemed self-conscious and eager to make amends. He had only overheard her saying she thought he got kicked out for starting a fire at Gotham Academy. Maybe that's as far as it went. A gossiper, maybe, but far too nice to be threat. He wasn't fond of anyone that liked to talk about him behind his back, but it didn't seem necessary now to guard himself too heavily against her. She was ridiculous, maybe, and definitely the perky-cheerleader type, but, after witnessing her discomfort to the jabs he'd made, he guessed the guilt was eating her alive. And if that was the case, her apology had been sincere.

Jack took the lapse in conversation that followed as an opportunity to observe the classroom. He had subconsciously realized that something felt off about it, but it wasn't until now that he realized the sterile white walls were just that – white. No paintings, posters or decorations hung up on the walls, and the only splash of color came from the area in the back, where all the art material was stuffed into drawers or sat on tables. Brushes colored by dry paint and pencils and markers peeped out of boxes, screaming to be used. It's like Mrs. Fairchild had gone out of her way to stifle the creativity of her students by making the classroom look so dull. Even the boards were wiped completely clean, not a marker mark in sight.

He took a look at Mrs. Fairchild herself and saw that she was no different. Her hair, a dull blonde color, looked lifeless lying over her droopy shoulders. She wore a grey cardigan and a pearl necklace that seemed to blend in with her pale skin. As she sat at her desk glazing over a book, she was perfectly still and, when she had to move, she did so languidly. She licking her finger before turning each page and seemed to have no intent to look at the classroom even once.

Jack cleared his throat and nodded towards Mrs. Fairchild. "Is she always like that?"

"Mrs. Fairchild?" Harley asked. "Oh, yeah. She just takes attendance, assigns something, and spends the rest of the time at her desk. She doesn't care what we do, so long as we turn in our work."

Jack considered skipping class but then realized he had nowhere better to go.

"I have a lot of magazines at home I could bring tomorrow," Harley volunteered.

It took Jack a moment to realize she had been talking about the project. "Oh, um…I have a lot of newspapers."

"Great. We'll find something we like and maybe we'll come up with something."

Jack nodded, watching the seconds hand on the clock at the front of the classroom make its revolution. The two of them had fallen into silence for the rest of the class, and he could've sworn he had to wait a whole hour instead of twenty-five minutes before the bell finally rung.

He swung his backpack over his shoulder the moment it did. Before leaving, he hesitated, and without thinking, he said, "Sorry about almost knocking you over."

Harley looked surprised that he had even bothered to apologize. He wasn't sure why he had either.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "That's okay. We just got off on a bad start."

He didn't know how to respond to her hopeful comment, not sure why she still seemed set on making friends with him, and simply nodded before leaving the classroom.

* * *

Jack was glad that Art was on the first floor. He managed to be one of the first students to get to the student parking lot, meaning a quick escape from the school premises in his truck. The moment he heard the roar of the engine at the turn of the keys, his shoulders relaxed, and he didn't look back as the vehicle tumbled through the gate entrance.

He considered going straight home, knowing his mother would pester him about where he'd been and then give him a long list of instructions on how to behave once his father arrived from Washington, D.C. in the evening, complaining about how he wasn't there to help her clean up around the house despite the fact that every room looked like it had come fresh out of IKEA every day anyway.

_Screw it, _he thought. He deserved a burger.

He parked at the side of the road right in front of Donny's. It was cramped between a drug store and an Italian restaurant and was located right outside of the Narrows. The neon lights of the "OPEN" sign offered a promise of escape. A bell jingled above his head as he opened the door, and the sweet smell of a frying-something permeated his nose. He quickly surveyed his surroundings, and, as he had predicted, the diner was completely empty. Customers rarely came at this hour, and for that, Jack was grateful. He wiped his feet on the doormat before making his way across the checkered tiles to his usual seat at the corner of the bar.

Donny's had an unassuming, vintage charm that appealed to Jack, and he appreciated its ability to blend in with the rest of rusted, gloomy city, but his main reason for frequenting the place was to see Derek, who was currently nowhere to be seen.

Derek was Jack's best friend since middle school, though they hadn't attended the same high school. He was two years older than Jack and was supposed to be a senior, but he had dropped out of school the previous year. He would always mumble about school getting in the way of his music career and would dedicate all the time one would normally use to do homework to playing his guitar and writing music, so Jack had figured it was only a matter of time.

Derek's father owned the diner, and luckily for the both of them, it was a popular joint. Derek's father had only allowed Derek to drop out if his son promised to continue working at the restaurant and would find another job to support himself in a few years, not planning on having his son depend on him for money for the entirety of his life. Derek has eagerly accepted the conditions. So long as he had his guitar, he was ready for anything.

Jack made himself comfortable at the stool and gave a nod of acknowledgement to the chef, Manny, a man in his fifties with tanned skin who had stopped to wave as he fumbled around with boxes of produce in the kitchen, visible through a glassless window than opened up into the diner.

"Derek will be out soon," he told Jack. "You want the usual?"

Jack nodded. "If you'd be so kind. I'm downright _famished_."

"Comin' right up, Jack."

While the chef continued his work in the kitchen and set to preparing Jack his usual, a 50/50 burger with a side of fries, Jack pulled out a napkin from a napkin dispenser and tried to fold it into a paper airplane.

He looked up when the door leading to the back of the diner opened and Derek emerged.

Derek's hair, as always, was a tangled, dirty-blonde mess. The bandana he tied around it only amplified its rumpled look. His white sleeveless T-shirt was wrinkled and his jeans were baggy and torn. The apron wrapped around his waist and his name badge were the only things that indicated that he worked there. In short, Derek spectacularly managed to look like he had just climbed out of bed at all times.

"Hey, man." Derek's face broke into a grin. He came up to Jack, shook his hand, and put an arm around his to pat him on the back in greeting.

He then went behind the counter and asked, "You want a drink or something? Something to eat?"

"Manny's already making me something, but, uh, I'll have Coke."

Derek set about retrieving a cup and filling it with soda with the soda dispenser. "So, how was your first day of public school?" he asked with exaggerated cheerfulness.

Jack shot him a glare. Derek only grinned wider. "Yeah, that's what I thought. You look miffed. I would be too if I was stuck in that place. Not as pretentious as where you came from, but man, it just messes with your mind. Having all those voices drone on and on for _hours _about _crap._"

While Jack could agree the repetitive, dull cycle of attending classes bothered him too, that wasn't what bothered him now. "Nah, it's not that." He took of a sip of his drink when Derek slid it over the counter. "It's the people. They're all _so_…full of their own bullshit."

Jacked thanked Manny when he brought him his food. He bit into the hamburger and savored the warm, sweet greasiness of fast food as he chewed, not stopping to wipe his hands and mouth until he was finished.

"Oh, like Gotham Academy isn't full of those?" Derek challenged.

"No. Gotham Academy's kids just have sticks up their asses. The bad part is that they're not _pretending._"

Derek cleared his throat. "You were just a Gotham Academy kid."

Jack shot Derek yet another glare. "That's why I left."

Derek scratched his neck and grinned. "If that's how you want to put it."

Jack knew Derek was trying to subtly hint at the fact that Jack hasn't so much chosen to leave as he had been kicked out. But doing what got him kicked out in the first place was the only way he could get what he wanted. That's why he considered it his choice. He didn't stay anywhere he didn't want to be.

After Jack was finished with his meal, they headed out to the back of the diner for a smoke.

The dull brick wall of the adjacent building in the alleyway was vandalized with undecipherable graffiti. A dumpster stood just a few feet away from the backdoor of the diner, and the stink was inescapable no matter how far away they stood. After a while, though, they adjusted to the smell, and the way the surrounding walls washed out the sound of the congested, loud city allowed Jack to hear his own thoughts.

When he took his first drag of a Marlboro, his shoulders relaxed, and he rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes. For a few minutes, they just stood there, sharing exhaled smoke and silence.

"Wanna take a few packs home, Jackie?" Derek asked, referring to the cigarettes. Jack and Derek had a deal; since Derek was old enough to purchase cigarettes and Jack wasn't, he'd supply Jack with some as long as he paid a reasonable price. Jack wasn't exactly a smoker, but every once in a while, he needed to unwind through good old-fashioned nicotine.

Jack cracked open his eyes and smacked his lips. "And risk my mom being a bitch about it? Hmm."

"That's never stopped you before."

Jack chuckled, though he wasn't amused. "No," he agreed. "It has not. But with, uh, dad coming into town, she'll already want to choke the life out of me for smelling like cigarette smoke. So I'll go easy on her today."

"Come get 'em when you have to make another public appearance. Sneak one out when you see a paparazzi hiding behind a bush."

They both smiled at that. "I'm sure they'll want to get a load of my charming face," Jack agreed.

Then, Derek studied Jack carefully as he stubbed out his cigarette. He mussed up his hair before speaking, and Jack knew that meant he was about to ask something serious. Something he knew Jack wouldn't want to discuss. Jack's tongue shot out to lick his lips.

"Think he's gonna win? Your dad?"

"As long as the good people of Gotham continue to believe an old-money conservative has their best interests in mind because he, uh, donated money to an orphanage once and kissed a _puppy_." The nicotine could only do so much to prevent acid from rising up his throat and flowing to the tip of his tongue, ready to be spit out like a cobra's venom. Jack nevertheless took a drag of his cigarette.

Derek huffed. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. But he doesn't have to live in D.C. anymore if he wins, right? Which means he'll be living with you."

Oh, Jack knew exactly what it meant. The moment he heard the news, not from the man himself, or his mother, but the goddamn _news _channel, he had curled his hands into fists and felt his body grow hot from the way his blood boiled. He jaw had gone rigid and he'd bared his teeth, ready to growl at someone, something. Ready to smash the television screen with one hurl of a remote. Instead, he just sat there, chest rising and falling rapidly, the edges of his teeth furiously working the inner flesh of his mouth.

"Yup. The picture-perfect family happily _reee_united."

Derek scratched his shoulder and continued to stare at Jack with a frown etched between his brows. "Sorry, man. Really." Jack knew he meant it. He hummed in acknowledgement.

"If he ever-" Derek hesitated. "If you ever need anything, need my help. You know I got your back, man."

Jack returned Derek's gaze for a moment as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. He only said "I think I'll have another cigarette." Derek passed him one.

It was a known fact to Derek that Jack and Harris Napier were not on the best of terms. Jack had told Derek everything so he could understand that he was, by nature, a true politician. Self-interested, manipulative, a liar, a fraud. It wasn't like Jack was stupid and didn't understand how politics worked. He couldn't care less about the man Harris needed to become at work. Except he didn't just become that person at work. That's who he was, down to the rotten core. And he treated Jack and his mother just he treated any audience. He put on whatever mask he thought they should see. He lied through tight, white smiles and had a talent for making promises he couldn't keep. And sweeping things under the rug. Jack's whole life, it had seemed like Jack was the biggest, ugliest son-of-a-bitch dirt stain on the lion-skin rug of them all.

Maybe because he was good at masks. He liked to figure out how many a person wore and then pick apart what was underneath. He knew his father's true face. That's not what his father wanted.

His preventive measures included keeping Jack on a leash. Attend this dinner here. Wear a suit and tie and _smile, _Jackie. Shake hands. Be a good student. Watch me while I gloat about your academic excellence so you make sure not to slack off, Jackie. I promised them you were a good student. Keep it up, _son. _Because I have the power and I'll get my way. I'll scheme until the picture's right. Be like your mother, stand still, and give the camera a smile. Because we're the good old American family with the good old American values. You don't even have to try hard, Jackie boy. Just wear this mask. You look too serious. Just hide the goddamn scar.

Jack hadn't realized how hard he'd been gnawing at the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. He was only halfway finished with the second cigarette, but he stubbed it out and threw it away, ready to leave.

When he looked at his watch, he saw that it was 3:50. There wasn't enough time to get home by 4:00. That's the time his mother had asked him to come home. He was on time to being late, just as planned.

He said goodbye to Derek, who had made one last attempt to change his mind about buying the cigarettes, and headed out of Donny's. He eyed the newspaper vending machines sitting right outside of the diner and remembered Harley and the project. He dug around for a few coins in his wallet and found enough to buy ten newspapers. Nancy Napier could've already disposed of the ones he remembered them having at home, anal-retentive habits and all that.

Once he got inside his truck, he took a moment to leaf through all of them, figuring it wouldn't hurt to be late just a few more minutes. One headline popped up at him as he skimmed: "BRUCE WAYNE FOLLOWS IN FATHER'S FOOTSTEPS, ENROLLS IN GOTHAM ACADEMY".

Jack almost laughed. Almost.


End file.
